White Nightmare
by stellar asterism
Summary: Arthur's been bothered by a nightmare for a few days.


It was white.

Everything was white, as if his surroundings were covered by snow, but Arthur knew better; he was seeing _that_, the damned thing that had been depriving him of his sleep for the last few days. How he wished he could wake up from this before it began, or even better, stop this from happening altogether. He hated how he was still afraid of this, even after seeing it several times, just because it involved them... and _him_. Especially him. Damn his sentimental side.

Tentatively, he took a step, and the moment he did, shadowy figures appeared all around him, standing still, as if waiting for something. The figures were obscured enough to hide their faces, but still clear enough for him to recognize who they were, and he hated them for being like that. It made him uneasy. It made him afraid. And it was just the beginning.

A few seconds passed in silence as he took a deep breath before taking another step. As if they had just been given an order, the figures started to move, matching their pace with Arthur's, making him torn between running as fast as he could and stopping altogether. He knew he couldn't stop, though; the figures wouldn't stop even if he did, and staying still would only put him in the risk of touching them. He didn't want to remember what happened whenever his hands, his fingertips came in contact with those figures, but he knew it wasn't something he could forget easily when he's still seeing this god damned—

A splash of red abruptly dragged him out of his thoughts, and instinctively, Arthur took a step back, eyes widening from shock and fright. It was far from the first time he had seen blood, and he was by no means a coward, but this... was different. And he didn't like it any bit.

Another accidental touch, a splatter of blood, and before he knew it, the previously white landscape was stained with black and red. There were only a few of the figures remaining, less than five, at most. He couldn't tell. He was far too panicked, too frightened to think properly.

"D... Don't come near me," he quietly muttered amidst his ragged breathing, eyes darting from one figure to the next before finally stopping on the one he recognized the most. _Please, not him..._

As if it could hear his thoughts, the figure deliberately moved towards him at an alarming speed, and he wanted to run, but his feet wouldn't listen—

"...thur..."

—and did someone just call his name? He'd assumed the figures couldn't talk, since none of them had ever uttered a word—or made a sound, for that matter, but he was certain he hadn't been imagining—

"...Arthur..."

He cursed inwardly, recognizing the voice. How could he ever forget _that_ voice, anyway?

Snapping out of his thoughts once he realized that the shadowy figure was only inches away from him, the Briton took a step back reflexively. He knew it was too late to run, though; the figure was already reaching for his hand, and he knew it was only a matter of time before—

"Arthur!"

And he found himself back in the real world, with a worried Alfred looking at him.

"Wh... What..." he muttered, eyes darting around for a few moments before finally settling on the younger nation, "Where... Why am I—"

"Calm down, Arthur," the bespectacled blond cut in, hands gripping the Briton's shoulders firmly. "Just... calm down, please," he repeated, his voice becoming softer, "You're scaring me."

"Ah... Sorry." His eyes shifted away from the American uneasily. How was he supposed to explain this to him?

A few seconds passed in silence before Alfred finally spoke up. "Anyway, you're at my place, so—"

"...Why am I here?"

"What?" Slowly, the younger nation removed his hands from the Briton's shoulders, eyes shifting away nervously. "Uh... You sort of fell asleep in the cab, so I told the driver to just take us here..."

"...Oh. Right. We were going to the airport." A pause. "What time is it?"

"Um, I think it's already past seven p.m.?"

"Seven..." Arthur murmured, trying to remember when his flight was supposed to be. "...Oh, sod it. I missed my flight." He then proceeded to glare at the younger blond. "Why didn't you wake me up, you git?"

"Ah, well, I just couldn't..." the bespectacled nation apprehensively said, grinning nervously at the scowling Briton, "I mean, you looked so tired, and you were sort of using my shoulder as a pillow, so—"

"I _what_?" Arthur blurted out incredulously, a look of pure confusion gracing his face for a moment before something clicked in his head, causing a burst of scarlet to color his cheeks. "D-d-don't make things up, you twerp!"

Alfred grinned mischievously. "You looked so cute when you were sleeping, you know," he teasingly said, his smirk growing wider as he watched the Briton stammer incoherently and blush even more. Arthur's reactions were always so amusing, he'd never grow tired of taunting the older nation. "So cute, so innocent—"

"Shut up!" Arthur yelled, scowling at the bespectacled blond, who merely chuckled in response. "And stop laughing, you cheeky brat!"

"But you _did_ look cute and innocent when you sleep!" the younger nation insisted, his grin lingering for a few moments before fading away. "That is, until you started thrashing around and screaming in your sleep," he continued, his tone becoming more solemn as he spoke. "What happened?"

"...It's nothing," the Briton briskly replied, crossing his arms and turning his face away from the bespectacled nation. How the hell was he supposed to explain _that_ to Alfred? His dignity was on the line here.

"It's not 'nothing', Arthur. Now tell me."

There was a tense, awkward silence between the two of them as the older nation stubbornly refused to speak, and Alfred was starting to consider forcing him to spill everything when Arthur finally spoke.

"It's a nightmare," he started, still facing away from the bespectacled blond. "One I'd been seeing for the last couple of days... Oh, bloody hell, why am I even telling you this? You'll just laugh at me."

"Arthur, please, tell me," the younger nation insisted, frowning slightly. "If this is the reason behind your strange behavior—"

"What strange behavior?" the Briton interjected, turning to face Alfred, an eyebrow lifted.

"Uh, you know, the part when you said 'I'm too tired to argue with you' to Francis during the meeting earlier?"

"...And why is that so strange, pray tell?"

The American sighed and grinned exasperatedly. Arthur really needed to be more honest. "Since when have you ever been 'too tired' to fight with him?" he rhetorically asked, lips curved into a smile the Briton found to be rather smug and so god damn annoying, he wanted to punch it out of the blond's face. "Everyone knows how eager you two are to pick a fight with each other, no matter where or when."

The older nation scowled slightly, shifting his gaze away from the American. "But I _was_ too tired to argue," he weakly insisted.

"Because of the nightmare?"

A moment of awkward silence. "...I suppose."

"What kind of dream... uh, nightmare is it?" the younger blond tentatively asked. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear the description of the nightmare, since it was apparently scary enough to cause Arthur, of all people, to lose sleep over it, but it wasn't as if he could just say 'on second thought, I'd rather not'.

The older nation shot his former colony an exasperated look before letting out a sigh and proceeding to describe his so-called nightmare in as much detail as he possibly could. Much to his surprise, Alfred actually paid attention to him through the whole duration of his account; it was rare to see the usually childish nation behave so mature like this.

...And what the bloody hell was that worried look in his eyes for, anyway?

"It doesn't sound too scary," Alfred innocently commented once the description was done, his previously serious expression relaxing into a smile. "It _is_ a bit creepy, what with the shadowy figures and the deadly touch and all, but—"

"Oh, sure, of course it's not scary," the Briton huffed, eyes darting away from the bespectacled nation. How he wished he hadn't told Alfred about the nightmare; if he hadn't, perhaps he wouldn't be so embarrassed like this. "It's silly, I know—me, troubled by a mere nightmare? How pathetic."

"Hey, I'm not saying you can't be afraid of it or anything," the taller blond quickly said. "Besides, a nightmare's nothing to be embarrassed about—"

"For a child, perhaps," Arthur brusquely cut in.

"Well, certainly, you _are_ a bit too old to be scared by something—"

"Where's my jacket?" the older nation harshly, abruptly demanded, having stood up a short while ago and was now walking around the room in search of the aforementioned article. "There should still be some flights to London. It's only seven."

"Ah, hey, wait!" Alfred quickly said, grabbing the Briton's arm in an attempt to stop him. "What about the nightmare?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about."

The American fell silent for a moment, racking his mind for something, anything that could keep Arthur here. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was a bit worried about the older nation; they hadn't even found a solution to the nightmare yet! "Uh, why don't we have dinner first?"

"...Pardon?" the British blond incredulously asked, lifting an eyebrow, "Alfred, this is hardly the time for that."

"But I'm hungry!" the bespectacled nation insisted, putting on the best kicked puppy look he could muster in a few seconds. "Please? It'll just be a quick dinner!"

Arthur sighed exasperatedly, palm pressed to his forehead. Curse his weakness towards the look the American was giving him. "Oh, alright," he reluctantly said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when he saw Alfred's face light up the second he agreed, "But I'll have none of that rubbish you usually eat."

The taller nation chuckled and grinned. "As if your cooking can be called food."

"Shush, you dolt." The Briton shot a glare at the younger blond. "Now where's my jacket?"

—

It was a couple of minutes past eleven p.m., and Arthur was cursing the fact that he had somehow been coaxed into _this_. He should have realized what Alfred was up to sooner, but that dolt had done a surprisingly good job of hiding his intentions until it was too late. It was quite commendable, considering the stupidity the younger nation usually displayed; that much, Arthur was willing to admit, albeit begrudgingly.

Now if only the twit would stop being a pain in the arse, then the situation would be much, much better.

"Come on, Arthur!" the American lightly said, patting the empty part of the bed beside him for emphasis while calmly ignoring the older nation's murderous glare. "Aren't you going to sleep?"

Arthur honestly wanted to punch that impossibly annoying look of pure glee off the younger blond's face. "You planned all this, didn't you, you sodding git?" he crankily muttered, still glaring daggers at the nation who was lying on the bed a few steps away from where he was standing.

"I might have," Alfred calmly said, though the smug grin on his face was more than enough to confirm it. "And I'm surprised you didn't notice until I reserved you a ticket for the flight." He chuckled at the sight of the scowling Briton. "Anyway, aren't you going to sleep already? It's already late, and you've got an early plane to catch tomorrow."

"Must I share a bed with you?" the older blond exasperatedly asked, letting out a sigh.

The younger nation grinned mischievously. "...Are you afraid that I'm going to do something to you?"

"O-o-of course not!" Arthur instantly stammered in response, crossing his arms and shifting his eyes away as a faint red tint appeared on his cheeks. "Besides, you wouldn't dare!"

"Who says I wouldn't?"

"_Alfred_!"

Said nation merely laughed. He really would never get tired of teasing Arthur. "Well, I'm not going to do anything today, I swear, so come on and sleep already!" His smug grin turned into a confident smirk. "Who knows, I might be able to remedy your nightmare."

The Briton looked at the bed tentatively for a moment before finally shifting closer towards it, not bothering to hide his reluctance but doing his best to hide his uneasiness. He'd done more than enough to embarrass himself for the day; he needn't do any more mortifying actions.

"Fine, but only because you insist," the older nation huffed as he climbed onto the bed, keeping a fair distance away from Alfred as he settled his head onto the pillow. "And don't you even think about doing anything!" he added for good measure, eyes lingering on the younger blond for another few seconds before turning away, so that his back was facing the slightly taller nation. Arthur simply knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he was looking at him. What if the nightmare became more vivid, the obscured figures replaced by a much clearer version?

With a chuckle from the American's part, the light was switched off, and the room's lighting turned from bright to almost pitch-black. The older nation noticed how the bed shifted slightly under the weight of the other nation as the latter got back onto the mattress; how a blanket was pulled over him, stopping just a little below his shoulders. He remembered how _he_ used to be the one who did all these, not Alfred...

Arthur willed away the memories forcefully. The last thing he needed to do was remember those before he fell asleep. God knows how those memories would alter his nightmare.

—

Once again, Arthur found himself in the pure white room, surrounded by the shadowy figures even though he hadn't even taken a step. This time, he thought, he wasn't going to move; he was going to stay perfectly still, so that the figures wouldn't—

He nearly cried out of frustration when he saw the shadows move towards him anyway, despite of the lack of movement from his part. How the bloody hell was he supposed to work his way around them, around this nightmare? He'd tried everything, every method he knew of, logical or otherwise, but none of them worked.

Just then, he felt something grab his wrist from behind and push his hand forward, towards—_Please, anyone but him...!_

There was a splatter of blood, and the painfully familiar figure fell right into his arms.

"...Please, no..." he weakly muttered, barely able to form a coherent sentence as he looked at the bleeding, unmoving figure, unable to shift his attention elsewhere.

"...Arthur?"

And once again, he found himself waking up from the nightmare, looking right into Alfred's eyes; so blue, so alive...

Before the younger nation could utter another syllable, he'd already been assaulted with a very abrupt and unexpected hug from the other nation. "...Uh, Arthur?" he tentatively said after getting over his initial shock, "What's wrong?"

No answer; the Briton simply tightened his grip around his former colony, face buried deeper into the crook of the other's neck. He would never admit it, but he was relieved, so very relieved to see Alfred alive and well like this.

"...Arthur, are you crying?"

There was still no answer, though Alfred didn't really need one; he could hear the quiet, forcibly muffled sobs just fine. Letting out a quiet sigh, the taller nation shook his head slightly and smiled as he returned the hug. "There, there," he softly said, doing his best to sound as comforting as possible, though there was still a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. "There's nothing to be afraid of, alright?" Cautiously, he ran his fingers through Arthur's hair, wondering if this sort of treatment—a treatment fit for a child, the Briton would undoubtedly say—would offend him. The older nation didn't shove him away, though, so Alfred figured it would be fine.

Until Arthur pulled away at his own accord, that is.

"Don't treat me like a kid, you dolt," the slightly shorter nation complained, scowling at the other, his face red from both crying and embarrassment. "And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll—"

"Hey, in my defense, _you_ hugged me first," the American nonchalantly cut in, pouting slightly on the outside but grinning on the inside. If only Arthur looked like this more often. Did he know how adorable he looked right now? "Besides, why would I tell anyone? I sure as hell don't want a scolding from you..." His voice trailed off as a mischievous smirk made its way onto his face. "Or are you telling me to let everyone know how a nightmare made you—"

"_Alfred_."

The younger nation simply laughed. "Looks like someone's being a bit touchy today."

Arthur grumbled in exasperation. Sometimes he wondered why he still put up with the obnoxious nation. "I'm _not_ being touchy," he futilely insisted, glaring at the slightly taller blond for emphasis, "And I swear, if you tell this to anyone, I'll—"

The feeling of another's lips pressed against his instantly silenced him and shocked him so much, it took him a full five seconds to realize what was happening—or what had just happened, really, since Alfred had pulled away a few seconds ago and was now smirking at him.

"W-w-what do you think you're doing, you git?" the Briton sputtered, desperately trying—and failing—to will away the blush that was turning his face redder and redder by the moment.

"Sorry, sorry," the younger nation apologetically said, though his amused tone gave everything away. "I couldn't help myself; you looked too cute not to—"

"Alfred F. Jones, don't make me—"

"Whoa, that's the third time you said my name today," he calmly cut in, a mischievous grin on his face. "You must really like me—" The American narrowly dodged a punch directed to his face, still grinning. "—don't you?"

Arthur groaned in exasperation, palm pressed onto his forehead. "You're the most insufferable nitwit I've ever known."

"Why, thank you!" Alfred deliberately replied in a slightly exaggerated cheerful tone, earning him another glare from the older nation, which he dismissed with the utmost ease. "Now, if you're done praising me, you should get back to sleep!" he calmly continued, patting Arthur on the back, "You've an early plane to catch tomorrow, right?"

The Briton sighed. "Fine, fine..." he murmured in defeat, plopping his head back onto the pillow. He wasn't daft; he could easily see that Alfred was trying to take his mind off the nightmare, and for that, he was slightly—_slightly_—thankful. Not that he was going to thank the younger nation directly, of course.

Slowly, he turned away from the American, reassuming his position earlier, with his back facing the taller blond. He didn't react when an arm was suddenly draped around him, nor when he was slowly pulled closer towards the younger nation. He flinched and blushed a little when he felt lips touch the back of his neck for a second, but otherwise, he didn't react. This was how he was going to show his gratitude; the thickheaded nation surely wouldn't realize...

"Good night, Arthur," Alfred softly murmured, a smirk tugging on his lips, "And you're welcome."

"...Git."


End file.
